A  LAST  WILL 


WILLISTON  FISH 


- 


JOHN  HENRY  NASH 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


A  LAST  WILL 


A   LAST   WILL 


WILLISTON  FISH 


GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 
ON  MURRAY  HILL  :  :  NEW  YORK 


A  LAST  WILL 

—  B  — 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


INTRODUCTION 


wrote  "  A  Last  Will"  in  \  897, 
It  was  published  first  in  Har- 
pers Weekly  in  1898.  Shortly 
afterwards  it  began  to  appear 
in  a  sporadic  way  in  the  news- 
papers. Whenever  a  newspaper 
did  not  have  at  hand  what  it 
really  wanted,  which  was  apiece 
entitled  "  Reunion  of  Brothers 
Separated/or  Fifty  Tears"  or 
"Marriage  Customs  Among  the 
Natives  of  the  Fricassee  Is- 
lands" it  would  run  in  this 
piece  of  mine.  In  return  for  the 
free  use  of  the  piece,  the  paper, 
not  to  be  outdone  in  liberality, 
would  generally  correct  and 
change  it,  and  fix  it  up,  often  in 
the  most  beautiful  manner;  so 

c  *  IP 


that  I  am  forced  to  believe  that 
nearly  every  paper  has  on  its 
staff  a  professor  of  literature 
and  belles-lettres,  always  ready 
to  red-ink  the  essays  of  the  begin- 
ner and  give  them  the  seeming 
of  masterpiece sy  and  gradually 
to  unfold  to  the  novice  all  the 
marvels  of  the  full  college  cur- 
riculum. This  simple  work  of 
mine  has  been  constantly  under- 
going change  and  improvement. 
Sometimes  the  head  has  been 
cut  off;  sometimes  a  beautiful 
wooden  foot  has  been  spliced  on. 
When  a  certain  press  at  Cam- 
bridge reprinted  it — Cambridge 
is  undoubtedly  the  home  of 
acute  belles-lettres  —  it  used 


a  copy  in  which  the  common 
word  dandelions  was  skilfully 
changed  to  flowers,  daisies  was 
changed  to  blossoms,  and 
creeks,  which  is  only  a  farmer- 
boy  word,  was  changed  to 
brooks.  When  I  said  that  I  gave 
"to  boys  all  streams  and  ponds 
where  one  may  skate, 'this  Cam- 
bridge printer  added,  "when 
grim  winter  comes."  Some 
writers  can  boast  that  their 
works  have  been  translated  into 
all  foreign  languages, but  when 
I  look  pathetically  about  for 
some  little  boast,  lean  only  say 
that  this  one  of  my  pieces  has 
been  translated  into  all  the 
idiot  tongues  of  English* 


The  name,  Charles Lounsbury, 
of  the  devisor  in  the  will,  is  a 
name  in  my  family  of  three  gen- 
erations ago — back  in  Tork 
State  where  the  real  owner  of 
it  was  a  big,  strong,  all-around 
good  kind  of  a  man.  I  had 
an  uncle,  a  lawyer,  in  Cleve- 
land named  after  him,  Charles 
Lounsbury  Fish, who  was  a  most 
burly  and  affectionate  giant 
himself  and  who  took  delight  in 
keeping  the  original  Charles 
Lounsbury' s  memory  green.  He 
used  to  tell  us  of  his  feats  of 
strength:  that  he  would  lift  a 
barrel  by  the  chimes  and.  drink 
from  the  bung-hole,  and  that 
in  the  old  Tork  State  summer 


days  he  used  to  swing  his 
mighty  cradle , — undoubtedly  a 
"turkey-wing"  —  and  cut  a 
swath  like  a  boulevard  through 
incredible  acres  oj yellow  grain. 
His  brain,  my  uncle  always 
added ,  was  equal  to  his  brawn, 
and  he  had  a  way  of  winning 
friends  and  admirers  as  easy  and 
comprehensive  as  taking  a  cen- 
sus. So  I  took  the  name  of  Charles 
Lounsbury  to  add  strength  and 
good  will  to  my  story. 

WILLISTON  FISH 


A  LAST  WILL 


Will 

t  was  stronger  and  cleverer, 
no  doubt,  than  other  men,  and 
in  many  broad  lines  of  busi- 
ness he  had  grown  rich,  until 
his  wealth  exceeded  exagge- 
ration. One  morning,  in  his  of- 
fice, he  directed  a  request  to 
his  confidential  lawyer  to 
come  tohiminthe  afternoon — 
he  intended  to  have  his  will 
drawn.  A  will  is  a  solemn 
matter,  even  with  men  whose 
life  is  given  up  to  business, 
and  who  are  by  habit  mindful 
of  the  future.  After  giving  this 
direction  he  took  up  no  other 
[9] 


matter,  but  sat  at  his  desk 
alone  and  in  silence. 

It  was  a  day  when  summer 
was  first  new.  The  pale  leaves 
upon  the  trees  were  starting 
forth  upon  the  yet  unbending* 
branches.  The  grass  in  the 
parks  had  a  freshness  in  its 
green  like  the  freshness  of  the 
blue  in  the  sky  and  of  the  yel- 
low of  the  sun, — a  freshness 
to  make  one  wish  that  life 
might  renew  its  youth.  The 
clear  breezes  from  the  south 
wantoned  about,  and  then 
were  still,  as  if  loath  to  go 
finally  away.  Half  idly,  half 
thoughtfully,  the  rich  man 
wrote  upon  the  white  paper 
I  10] 


before  him,  beginning*  what 
he  wrote  with  capital  letters, 
such  as  he  had  not  made  since, 
as  a  boy  in  school,  he  had 
taken  pride  in  his  skill  with 
the  pen: 


3n  tfje  jSame  of  ^otr,  &men 

CHARLES  LOUNSBURY,  being 
;  of  sound  and  disposing  mind 
and  memory  [he  lingered  on 
the  word  memory],  do  now 
make  and  publish  this  my  last 
will  and  testament,  in  order, 
as  justly  as  I  may,  to  distribute 
my  interests  in  the  world 
among  succeeding  men. 

And  first,  that  part  of  my 
interests  which  is  known  a- 

1  11  ] 


I 


mong  men  and  recognized  in 
the  sheep-bound  volumes  of 
the  law  as  my  property,  being- 
inconsiderable  and  of  none 
account,  I  make  no  account 
of  in  this  my  will. 

My  right  to  live,  it  being  but 
a  life  estate,  is  not  at  my  dis- 
posal, but,  these  things  ex- 
cepted,  all  else  in  the  world 
I  now  proceed  to  devise  and 
bequeath. 

»tent:  "And  first,  I  give  to  good 
fathers  and  mothers,  but  in 
trust  for  their  children,  nev- 
ertheless, all  good  little  words 
of  praise  and  all  quaint  pet 
names,  and  I  charge  said  pa- 
[  12] 


rents  to  use  them  justly,  but 
generously,  as  the  needs  of 
their  child^rn  shall  require. 


l(tem 

^rliic 


I  leave  to  children  ex- 
clusively, but  only  for  the  life 
of  their  childhood,  all  and 
every  the  dandelions  of  the 
fields  and  the  daisies  thereof, 
with  the  right  to  play  among 
them  freely,  according  to  the 
custom  of  children,  warning 
them  at  the  same  time  against 
the  thistles.  And  I  devise  to 
children  the  yellow  shores  of 
creeks  and  the  golden  sands 
beneath  the  waters  thereof, 
withthe  dragon-flies  that  skim 
the  surface  of  said  waters,  and 
[  13] 


the  odors  of  the  willows  that 
dip  into  said  waters,  and  the 
white  clouds  that  float  high 
over  the  giant  trees. 

And  I  leave  to  children  the 
long,  long  days  to  be  merry 
in,  in  a  thousand  ways,  and  the 
Night  and  the  Moon  and  the 
train  of  the  Milky  Way  to 
wonder  at,  but  subject,  nev- 
ertheless, to  the  rights  here- 
inafter given  to  lovers;  and  I 
give  to  each  child  the  right  to 
choose  a  star  that  shall  be  his, 
and  I  direct  that  the  child' s 
father  shall  tell  him  the  name 
of  it,  in  order  that  the  child 
shall  always  remember  the 
name  of  that  star  after  he  has 
[  14] 


learned  and  forgotten  astro- 
nomy. 

tent:  I  devise  to  boys  jointly 
all  the  useful  idle  fields  and 
commons  where  ball  may  be 
played,  and  all  snow-clad  hills 
where  one  may  coast,  and  all 
streams  and  ponds  where  one 
may  skate,  to  have  and  to  hold 
thesamefortheperiod  of  their 
boyhood.  And  all  meadows, 
with  the  clover  blooms  and 
butterflies  thereof;  and  all 
woods,  with  their  appurte- 
nances of  squirrels  and  whir- 
ring birds  and  echoes  and 
strange  noises;  and  all  distant 
places  which  may  be  visited, 
[  15] 


together  with  the  adventures 
there  found,  I  do  give  to  said 
boys  to  be  theirs.  And  I  give 
to  said  boys  each  his  own  place 
at  the  fireside  at  night,  with 
all  pictures  that  may  be  seen 
intheburningwoodorcoal,  to 
enjoy  without  let  or  hindrance 
and  without  any  incumbrance 
of  cares. 


i 


*tem:  To  lovers  I  devise  their 
imaginary  world,  with  what- 
ever they  may  need,  as  the 
stars  of  the  sky,  the  red,  red 
roses  by  the  wall,  the  snow 
of  the  hawthorn,  the  sweet 
strains  of  music,  or  aught 
else  they  may  desire  to  figure 
[  16] 


to  each  other  the  lasting-ness 
and  beauty  of  their  love 


:  To  young  men  jointly, 
being  joined  in  a  brave,  mad 
crowd,  I  devise  and  bequeath 
all  boisterous,  inspiringsports 
of  rivalry.  I  give  to  them  the 
disdain  of  weakness  and  un- 
daunted confidence  in  their 
own  strength.  Though  they 
are  rude  and  rough,  I  leave  to 
them  alone  the  power  of  mak- 
ing lasting  friendships  and  of 
possessing  companions,  and 
to  them  exclusively  I  give  all 
merry  songs  and  brave  cho- 
ruses to  sing,  with  smooth 
voices  to  troll  them  forth. 
[  17] 


I 


*tetn:  And  to  those  who  are  no 
longer  children,  or  youths,  or 
lovers,  I  leave  Memory,  and 
I  leave  to  them  the  volumes 
of  the  poems  of  Burns  and 
Shakespeare,  and  of  other 
poets,  if  there  are  others,  to 
the  end  that  they  may  live  the 
old  days  over  again  freely 
and  fully,  without  tithe  or  di- 
minution; and  to  those  who 
are  no  longer  children,  or 
youths,  or  lovers,  I  leave, 
too,  the  knowledge  of  what 
a  rare,  rare  world  it  is. 


